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Marriage Story, Literary Thriller Style (Review of Mrs. March)

Mrs. March by Virginia Feito is a book that I should love. It tells the story of a woman the reader only knows as Mrs. March who becomes convinced that her husband’s acclaimed new novel’s protagonist is an extremely unflattering portrait of her. There’s murder, a very toxic marriage, and an unlikeable female protagonist. In the wake of Gone Girl’s blockbuster success, all three tropes are very popular in thrillers and even literary fiction right now. These are also some of my favorite subjects to read about, but something about Mrs. March doesn’t quite land. 

Virgina Feito teases several important concepts - the crushing superficiality of the housewife role, how easy it is to overlook mental illness, male ignorance. Through the lens of Mrs. March though, Feito’s exploration of each of these roles seems very shallow, especially since START SPOILER ALERT Mrs. March seems to have independently been mentally ill since childhood. When the main character being used to explore these concepts turns out to actually be mentally ill, it undermines the critique of the institutions by completely stripping the protagonist of any credibility (not just because of the mental illness) END SPOILER ALERT.  Instead of delving deep into ideas, Feito seems to be relying on shocking the reader with extremely grotesque descriptions of eating and drinking, and with an extremely unlikeable but��‘real’ protagonist in Mrs. March. This is probably more of a reflection on me than the novel, but Mrs. March as a character was so unlikeable and insecure that I couldn’t become emotionally invested in her plight. I generally appreciate portraits of trying to hold it together in the face of extreme insecurity - too many literary characters can be one-dimensional in their perfection or lack thereof. But Mrs. March’s perspective is too annoying to be relatable without some kind of counterbalance, and no counterbalance ever comes. Mrs. March thinks all those forbidden thoughts, but for someone so prim and proper, she never seems to express any coherent morality.  Feito’s writing is vivid and disturbing, and she clearly is talented, but no actual message comes across. When she tries to solve a murder, Mrs. March remarks upon how out of character it is, but it is unclear if her investigation is actually being driven by fear of her husband or a desire for clout, each of which expresses almost contradictory themes.

Fans of literary thrillers with extremely unlikeable female characters will find Mrs. March familiar and may even enjoy it. But if you aren’t ready to read a portrait of a woman who seems defined by her madness and only her madness, then give Mrs. March a pass.

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Down and Out in Paris, Rage Edition (Review of Vernon Subutex 1)

Trying to explain Vernon Subutex 1 to someone who is not at least passingly familiar with Virginie Despentes would be like trying to explain Convergence to someone who has never heard of Jackson Pollock. Both works can be overwhelming expressions of random chaotic energy that might be confusing upon a first encounter. But while Vernon Subutex 1 (the first part of a successful French trilogy) can be unpleasant at times, Despentes’ tale of a down on his luck former record store owner in Paris is on the whole worth experiencing because of the author’s singular voice and style. 

I say singular voice, but the novel is actually told in chapters that cycle through the distinct points of view of many different characters - a right-wing middle-aged failed male screenwriter, a retired porn star’s trans male best friend, and a conservative young Muslim woman are among those who become the POV character for parts of the novel - all orbiting the titular Vernon Subutex, who finds himself homeless at the beginning of the story and couch surfs his way through Paris. Despentes is talented enough to craft specific voices for all of her characters, which is no small feat. But as anyone who knows of Despentes might guess, the story and characters are not terribly important in and of themselves. Instead, Vernon Subutex 1 is Despentes’ opportunity to explore her politics - which I can best describe as anti-patriarchal anti-capitalist rage - through the wide range of perspectives found in a metropolis like Paris.

If you are looking for a realistic plot or nuanced characters, this might be a problem. Because the book is a social critique disguised as a novel, the characters are designed to be mouthpieces for whatever criticism Despentes is exploring. Late in the novel, for example, Patrice - a violent domestic abuser friend of Vernon’s - says that he’s “got no professional status...no professional future,” and asks when he will “ever get to feel like...the master,” if he “quit[s] being violent.” This explanation of the tie between toxic masculinity and the inequalities created by capitalism is so succinct that it seems straight from a college gender studies seminar rather than what an actual human in Patrice’s position might say. 

But this direct approach also allows Despentes to cut right to the heart of things without bothering with the niceties. One character, for instance, remarks that “She has done everything her parents wanted her to do. Except have a child, which means everything else does not count,” a blunt but concise way of expressing the worst fears of many women without children. Despentes’ angry and sarcastic tone, characterized by cutting lines like “It must be awful to have a figure that no amount of dieting, exercise, or surgery could make attractive,” and “There is nothing to eat in the cupboard. But he has kept up the payments to his internet provider,” can be difficult to swallow, but I grew to find it weirdly comforting because her willingness to go there gives the reader permission to feel their own anger about the wide range of injustices in modern life.

At times, Despentes’ choice to tell the story through minority characters despite herself being a white woman - albeit one who has spent time on the margins of society herself as a sex worker - can be discomforting, given that real people from these backgrounds do not have many opportunities to publish their own lived experiences and social critiques. But ultimately, Despentes’ ideas, while not groundbreaking, are conveyed in an impassioned and unforgettable style. If you are ready to explore the uglier and angrier side of Paris and indeed, humanity, then Vernon Subutex 1 might be worth your while.